Autumn • Complete

Failing

I get up robotically the next morning. I get changed-blue zip jeans, purple crop top, clunky boots-brush my teeth and hair, apply makeup.

In the bathroom I rifle through the drawers, cupboards, everything, until I finally find what im looking for: a bottle of pills from my big anorexic stage.

FAT BURNERS
TAKE AT YOUR OWN RISK
NO MORE THAN ONE A DAY

Is what it says on the label, but I guess nobody pays attentions to labels anymore, do they?

I tip all the rest out onto the kitchen counter, and pour myself a glass of water. I pop four pills in my mouth, and wash them down. Now for hiding them from everyone.

I go through the cupboards again and find a bottle of my old migrane pills. I flush the migraine pills down the toilet and pour the fat burners in them. Nobody will be able to tell the difference. Good.

I thought I could handle it, but clearly not. I hate this.

---

"Autumn?" I look up from my 'cereal' as Dad comes in the kitchen, still wearing his pajamas.

I'd poured a little milk and about ten little cheerios in a bowl to make it look like I'd eaten something.

"Mmm?" I mumble through my last spoon full of cheerios. 

"I was thinking, we could go out for dinner tonight- to Sparkle?" He looks so enthusiastic, I can't just say no.

"Sure. I'll meet you there after school."

"Five thirty," he responds, and heads upstairs again, hopefully to get dressed.

Hopefully.

Its going to be difficult, going to Sparkle but it can't be helped. I'll just have to bear it and try and get through the night.

Before Fabian turns up, I swallow two more pills. And then one more. If I'm going to live, I'm going to have to lose.

Beep beep! Fabian honks his car horn and I sling my bag over my shoulder, shouting 'bye' behind me.

"Hey," I say as I clamber into the passenger side.

"Hi,"

"Can you drop me off outside the Gym block? I need to-to hand in a slip!" I hope its convincing enough and he nods carefully. He still hasn't realized I don't do PE or Gym.

---

I stare at my ugly reflection in the gym changing rooms mirror, and glare at myself. Why can't I be pretty?

I swallow another pill; I'm running out at a drastic rate. I need to try something else. I've still got ten minutes until class so I drop down to the floor.

Fifty sit-ups, I think, how hard can it be?

I get to thirty when sweat starts beading down my forehead and neck. I push on. I know I can do it. I have to do it. I have to prove to myself that I can be pretty, skinny, normal. All I want is to be normal.

Normal, forty three

Skinny, forty four

Pretty, forty five

Slender, forty six

Gorgeous, forty seven

Normal, forty eight

Skinny, forty nine
Normal, fifty!

I exhale in relief and lean against the wall, panting.

In the corner of the gym in a cupboard  is the one thing I like about it: scales that done lie. Scales that tell the truth. Tell you how ugly, fat, abnormal you are. I slide it out from the cupboard and switch it on. I slip off my shoes and heavy necklace and step onto the scales. The numbers swivel and dance until they set on a number.

7. 12

Not good enough. I want to be 6.12, 5.12, 4.12, 3.12.

I want to be O

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